It started out as an insatiable itch that I could not scratch. It has been two years since I had come to live with the man I have come to call faija, or "father".
"Father, can you itch my back? It really itches and I can seem to satisfy it!"
Mr. L (I still call him that on occasion) is at his desk working on some latest piece. At first, I expect him to be angry with me for interrupting him, but instead, his eyes light up with a bright glow.
"Here, let me see. Take off your shirt, please, aji."
I obey without a protest. The cool air feels good against my burning, itchy skin on my back. I can feel his bony, cold fingers playing upon my back.
"Faija, is something wrong?"
"Non, ma cherie. For you, life's just beginning. They're just feathers now, but they'll grow quickly from now on and should not itch so bad again."